


Half-Smiles (or How to Handle It)

by bellinibeignet



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Superfamily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 05:48:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellinibeignet/pseuds/bellinibeignet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter’s parents have gone from being the epitome of a perfect couple, to fighting every chance they get. And Peter has had enough.</p><p>Or, where Uncle Bruce and Uncle Clint are the greatest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half-Smiles (or How to Handle It)

The noise cancelling earbuds broke last week, so he couldn’t pretend anymore. And it was a lot harder than he thought it’d be, going back to hearing the bellow of voices beneath his feet, expletives over a misplaced item or a tactical disagreement, or other shit that shouldn’t have mattered, but did.

Peter made it six days when he decided that he wouldn’t and couldn’t stay around anymore. He’d endured it for months before dropping several hundred dollars at an electronics shop to buy his headphones, his fucking saviors (he would’ve asked Pop if he had some sort of special pair of earbuds he could use, but he thought that it may have caused another fight, because everything did these days), and he wasn’t going back to that. Not when he had his own fucking issues: the stress of his freshman year of college, Gwen’s father giving him shit, and, you know, being part spider.

He had two bags, both backpacks, because he was a simple guy and he didn’t need much outside of a few clothing necessities and a toothbrush. And the suit. Although fighting crime wasn’t really at the top of his list, he’d managed to stop more robberies and murderers than usual in just six days, because perhaps punching a few assholes blew off some steam.

Quietly, he left his bedroom and kept close to the wall. Yes, he was on a recon mission in his own goddamn home. If only Stark Tower’s security wasn’t so lined with paranoia, he could’ve taken the window.

A head of blond hair was sitting on the couch when he got down the stairs, facing away, the news on with his eyes down in a book, and Peter gave a quiet breath of relief. He made quick and quiet steps towards the door, and damn it, he almost made it.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

Peter’s heart nearly burst in his chest at the sound of Tony’s voice. He turned and gave a nervous grin, meeting the blue eyes of his elder father, ignoring the softer blue pair that were observed him from the couch.

 “Hey Pop,” he said, eyes on where Tony was wiping black gunk off of his hands and onto a towel. He must’ve come from the lab, sporting his Black Sabbath t-shirt and sweatpants. Pete wondered if he was wearing it to spite Steve, who’d asked that he throw it away a few days before because of the broken hem and holes.

“Kind of late to be going to the library, right?” Steve asked, noting one of the backpacks. Then, his brows tightened as he seemed to realize that there was a second.

Tony shook his head to himself, because he knew that he wasn’t going to the library with two backpacks, zippers threatening to burst. He cocked his head curiously to the side. “Where ya goin’?”

_Shit._

“Look, Pop.” He dropped the bag in his hand down onto the tile floor, then looked to Steve who was now standing with his book hanging to his side, a few feet from Tony with concerned eyes. “Dad.”

"We’re listening,” Tony said, thick black brows high on his forehead.

“I asked Uncle Bruce if I could stay with them for a little while,” he admitted quietly. “Until things calm down around here.”

“Calm down?” Steve questioned.

“Yeah, Dad. Calm down.” He huffed a breath, shrugging defeatedly, because really, it wasn’t his job to be his parents’ fucking couple’s therapist. “I could barely sleep last night with you two yelling at one another. If I wasn’t a genius, I would’ve failed my test this morning because my lack of concentration.”

“Wait. Bruce is saying you can stay with him?” Tony asked. “He didn’t tell me that.”

“You shouldn’t have to hear it from Bruce,” Steve said matter of factly. “Your son should be able to talk to you.”

They finally looked at one another. “Really?” Tony said in a mocking tone. “Thanks for suggesting that, on top of apparently not giving you enough attention, I’m a bad father. You’re two for two today, Steve.”

“You’re not a bad father,” Peter said lowly, but nobody heard.

“I never said you don’t give me enough attention,” Steve bit. “I’m not a nag. I’d just like it if you made a bit of effort not to miss our dates, or, I don’t know, not spend every moment in the lab like your family bores you to death.”

“That, my dear, kind of means the same thing as not giving you enough attention.”

“You are absolutely unbearable. Maybe it is better that you stay in the fucking lab.”

“You’d like that, I’m sure. And you can stay up here and call Pepper and plan stupid ass events.”

“It’s charity work, Tony! Some people like to actually make appearances, not write a fucking check and hope your karma points go up.”

“Jesus fucking Chr-“

Peter wasn’t violent outside of his alternate persona. He didn’t raise his voice or use many swear words or have any weird dispositions of kleptomania or sex fetishes. He was a straight laced kid, and probably a nerd, but sometimes, enough was e-goddamn-nough.

He picked up the glass vase on the key table, because it was the nearest thing to him, and he sent to crashing into the floor, shattering it to hundreds of irreparable pieces, silencing his fathers.

“Do you know how many kids I knew in high school who had parents who were still married and happy?” Peter asked, staring at the sets of startled blue eyes gazing back at him. “Do you have any idea?” Still, no answer. “Here’s a clue: I graduated being known as the nerd who was adopted by the two awesome fathers who couldn’t keep their eyes off of each other when they chaperoned stupid dances and science fairs. The one thing people know about me is that I come from a happy home.”

Steve swallowed loudly, and Tony pinched at his nose.

“I don’t even know who the hell you two are anymore,” he whispered, shaking his head and looking down at the floor. “I would’ve left months ago if Uncle Bruce hadn’t assured me that you guys were probably just going through some sort of weird marriage phase. Now though? I’m not gonna sit around and cry because my daddies don’t love one another anymore. I’m _not_ gonna be that kid. So, either figure your shit out or…” He didn’t think he knew how to say it, but it slipped out rather easily. “…or just break up.”

Bruce was parked out front, and when Peter got in the car, he could tell that his Uncle had been quietly hoping that he’d get a phone call, saying “Hey Unc. Change of plans. My dads love one another again”, and everything would be fine.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” Peter said with a half-smile. “And letting me crash. I know you and Uncle Clint are remodeling the place.”

Bruce shrugged. “You know you are always welcome. We could use a fresh face. For as long as you need.”

The Banner-Barton brownstone was on a relatively peaceful street in Brooklyn, and the floors and furniture were covered in plastic to protect from the paint and sawdust of remodeling. When Peter arrived, he didn’t even see Clint hunched in the corner of the living room, painting small touch-ups to the new golden border around the bottom of the wall.

“Hey Asskicker,” Clint greeted, standing with a stretch, his back cracking noisily. All of the Avengers were getting more brittle and gray these days, but you couldn’t tell them that.

Clint gave a small grin and Bruce planted a quiet kiss on his cheek as he went into the kitchen. Clint was rarely the type to blush, but maybe they were having a particularly happy day today, because Peter saw that the kiss made him a bit unsteady, a little less intense. “I hear you’re staying with us for a while,” he smiled.

Peter nodded. “Hopefully not too long.”

“We can do some shooting if you feel up to it,” he suggested. He then called out to Bruce. “We should order Chinese tonight! I’m not cooking!”

“I can cook,” Bruce called.

“No, dear. You can’t.” He gave a playful smirk to Peter, then told him to put his stuff in the guest room while he grabbed the bows.

 

Years ago, when Clint and Bruce were searching for a place to live together, the only thing Clint cared about was a nice rooftop, where he could shoot without being disturbed, or just to look at the stars, because he could be soft at heart on some days.

When Pete was younger, he spent plenty of days on the roof with Clint. Everything he knew about archery, he learned on this roof. He’d had plenty of firsts up there: his first beer, his first bullseye, his first birds and the bees talk (although Steve and Tony gave a rather embarrassing one a couple of years later that he pretended he was new to).

No matter what, he knew that the Barton-Banner home was neutral ground. Having Iron Man and Captain America as parents sounds like the greatest thing to any other kid, but they could be just as embarrassing and annoying as anybody else’s folks. Having a pair of cool uncles had been great for his sanity around the time of puberty, and would hopefully be as helpful now.

“Breathe with your fingers, kid,” Clint said, perched on his overturned crate, sipping generously from his beer. “You miss another shot and I’m gonna pitch myself off this building.”

Peter chuckled. “No pressure.”

“No pressure.”

That was their mantra, Clint realized, looking at the skinny kid as he stretched the bow easily across his chest. _No pressure_. That advice was the do all end all as far as Clint was concerned, because, honestly, Clint wasn’t a fucking inspirational speaker, and of all the people Peter had to turn to, having as many aunts and uncles as there were Avengers, Clint should’ve never been at the top of his list.

But he loved that kid, and if he had anything to say about it, he would do his best to steer him in the right direction, and Peter trusted him enough to tell his worst secrets to.

“Sometimes I think people will be disappointed in me if I… you know… like girls.”

Clint remembered laughing at that, because the kid was only thirteen at the time, but with his dads and uncles being the postermen for gay superhero husbands, he probably thought everyone would be disappointed in him for wanting to take a girl to his junior prom someday. The kid was stacked with the weirdest pressures known to man, and he wouldn’t deny that. But he knew there was nothing the kid could do wrong if he believed in himself.

“If it gets you hot, it’s nobody else’s concern,” Clint had told him, knowing immediately that Tony would probably say the same thing, and Steve would probably blush. “No pressure.”

Yeah. Clint was a regular fucking fortune cookie.

Peter’s arrow landed just on the edge of the bullseye.

“Good enough,” Clint breathed, tapping the other crate. “How’s the girl? Gwen?”

Peter didn’t have to shyly look at the cooler and hope Clint offered him a beer anymore. He dug into the ice and got one, popping the top off and letting it land on the ground, scattered amongst the several others that had built up since Clint had last swept.

“She’s fine,” he shrugged. “I’ve been sort of stressed lately, but she understands.”

Clint nodded. “Nice girl, that one. Told you she was a keeper.”

“How are you guys doing?” Peter asked.

Peter was almost completely thrown off by the shit-eating grin that spilled into Clint’s face, because there were few moments he’d ever seen him smile when Bruce wasn’t around, and even fewer times where he’d smiled about something other than Bruce in general.

“He’ll kill me for telling you, and I mean literally hulk-out and fuck me up, so don’t tell a soul. Not the dads especially. Tony would kill me for not telling him first.”

“Enough with the suspense,” Peter laughed nervously.

“We’ve decided to adopt,” he said, his grin even wider than before, if that were even possible.

“What?” Peter exclaimed, nearly hopping off of his crate. “Really? That’s great!”

Clint nodded. “Yeah. We’ve been talking about it for a while now. Ever since Tony and Cap were talking about it, they sort of –“

“My dads were talking about-

“—planted the idea in our—“

“—adopting another—“

“—heads.”

“—kid?”

Clint shook his head, because for an assassin slash spy, he really did talk too fucking much. That was why Natasha was the talker and he was the shooter. “I thought you would’ve known that by now.”

“Wait- wait- stop. Known _what_ by now, exactly?”

“About a year ago, they started talking about adopting. We thought it was going to happen, and all of a sudden, mum was the word.” Clint shrugged. “I shouldn’t even be telling you about this.” He paused, giving the kid a thoughtful look. “But fuck it. You’re not a baby. You have a right to know what is happening in your own family.”

Peter nodded, drinking in silence, before finally asking, “Do you know why they chose not to? To adopt again?”

Clint immediately caught the sadness in his inflection. “Has nothing to do with you, I’m sure,” he told him. “You were and still are the best thing to happen to them ever since those two sad bastards walked into one another’s lives. I promise you that.” He sighed. “Sometimes shit just… doesn’t work the way we want them to, Pete. And I can’t tell you what’s going on with them. I would if I knew.”

Peter breathed out the tightness in his chest. “I know you would.”

“And I’ve always been honest with you.”

“You have.”

“You fall in love and it’s something you can’t imagine ever stopping. Especially with Cap and Tony. They are the fairytale. ‘Give the world hope’ kind of love, ya know?” He gave a weak smile. “I’d like to say me and your uncle would’ve figured shit out without them showing us it was possible to have love in a fucked up world like ours. Who knows though.“ Maybe he was rambling. “But, Pete… everyone changes. Plenty of great things fade. You can’t really stop it sometimes.”

“So if things started to fade with Uncle Bruce, you’d just let it?”

Clint scoffed. “Like hell,” he said jerkily, then more thoughtfully, “You can never be sure what you’d do when your relationship hits a wall. Me and Bruce aren’t perfect, yeah. And we live under the guise of thinking that this is it, this is forever, and maybe it is. You know, but maybe it isn’t. Maybe we’ll stray one day. Get tired, get old, get skeptical.”

“Do you think you will?”

Clint was honest. “Nope. I don’t think I will.”

Peter liked staying with his uncles, but the comfort of their home could be as unnerving as being home with his dad’s yelling. They were always comfortable, the epitome of relaxed. When Peter was in middle school, Tony often joked that there was a woman that lived in his uncles’ closet named Mary Jane, and she was the reason for their mellow voices and languid eyes, their perfect rapport. Steve insisted that it was simply love.

Now, as he walked to the kitchen to grab a glass of water before bed, and saw his uncles sitting on the plastic covered couch in the living room like it was the most normal thing on the planet. And the next morning, they cooked breakfast together, like there was nothing else they’d rather be doing than running into one another and dropping eggshells into pancake batter and spilling milk across the counter because Bruce was too distracted by Clint’s kiss to notice how much he was pouring into the measuring glass.

“Now, you know you can stay here as long as you need to, Pete,” Bruce said in the midst of breakfast conversation. It was late morning on a Friday, and as far as Peter was concerned, he would lay around in his boxers until something worth his appearance beckoned for him. “But we don’t want you to cut Tony and Steve off. It’s one thing for them to be at one another’s necks. It’s another for them to lose their kid in the process.”

“They definitely could’ve thought about that before they started going crazy,” Peter scoffed, grabbing a piece of bacon and crunching it with a scowl. “Honestly, I’m sort of over it.”

“You don’t mean that, kid,” Clint sighed, standing and taking Bruce’s mug to refill it with coffee.

“Maybe I do,” Peter said softly, but of course he didn’t.

“The only thing that they love more than one another is you,” Bruce said, giving an easy but concerned smile. “Maybe exactly what they need is for you to give them a kick in the ass.”

The doorbell rang, and Clint growled. “It’s not even fucking noon and kids are trying to sell me candy and shit,” he mumbled going to the door.

Bruce grinned. “He loves it. Don’t let him fool you.” He looked at his nephew with careful eyes. “Your Pop called last night after you went to sleep.”

“I was gone for less than twelve hours and they already called.” He shook his head. “I love them, but they should be more concerned with one another right now than my hurt feelings. This isn’t about me. Maybe if they know I’m fed up, it will stir the pot.”

Clint called out, interrupting the soft and sorry look that Bruce was bearing down on Peter. “Babe! Where’d I put my wallet?”

Bruce chuckled and turned in his chair as Clint came in with a frustrated look. “It depends on what you’re buying this time.”

Clint shot him a glare, but he looked weak and defeated. “It’s Girl Scout Cookies season, babe.”

“On my bedside table,” Bruce managed to reply before Clint was barreling out of the room and up the stairs. Bruce looked longingly at the empty doorway, then back to Peter, whose face was contorted somewhere between admiration and anguish, if a face could do such a thing.

“Your parents love you,” Bruce said, although he didn’t doubt that Peter knew that.

“You guys are having a baby,” Peter said softly, a smile pushing onto his lips.

Bruce rolled his eyes, but instantly had the same shit-eating grin on his lips that Clint did. “He told you already?”

Peter nodded. “I’m so excited for you guys. I really am. You two deserve it.”

Then, a look of sorrow slipped into his uncle’s eyes, but it was definitely not for himself. It was for Peter and his dads, he knew immediately, and before Peter could say a word, Clint had come back downstairs, cash in hand. He came up behind Bruce, planted a kiss in his hair, asking if he wanted thin mints? Bruce nodded yes and they were alone again.

“They love you,” was all Bruce managed to say.

 

 

Steve was sitting silently on his side of the bed with a half-smile when Tony finally came upstairs. He’d expected to find him reading, or, more likely, asleep, but he had the basket of photo albums out, looking through the blue one as big as his lap.

Tony cleared his throat, and Steve looked up, his weak smile becoming surprisingly stronger. With a gentle nod, he gestured Tony over, and automatically, Tony joined him.

“Our first year with Peter,” Steve informed him, closing it so he could see the cover, the picture of them with a dark-haired and wide-eyed two year old hanging in Steve’s arms, Tony standing coolly with a bright look in his eyes.

“Seventeen years ago,” Tony breathed as Steve returned to the page he was on. “I didn’t have grey hair then.”

Steve gave a short chuckle, looking at his husband. Salt had started to appear in his pepper black hair nearly five years ago, and now there was much more than a few flecks of salt, streaks of silver common place amongst the shagginess.

While Steve’s genes were prolonging his aging, Tony was becoming only a bit more achy in his bones, but otherwise he was truly a fine wine. There had never been a more handsome man as far as Steve was concerned.

“Oh God,” Tony laughed as the next page fell and revealed Peter’s third birthday party photo, chocolate cake all over his face, the happiest grin he’d had in the six months since his adoption, which said a lot because the kid never stopped smiling. Tony instantly remembered the tears welling up in Steve’s eyes that day. There had been similar tears on their wedding day.

“He _loved_ that cake,” Steve chuckled. “To this day, if you sit cake in front of that kid, I still crack up.”

“I know, dear,” Tony said quietly, slipping a hand to the material of Steve’s boxer shorts and giving them a playful tug.

Steve let out a heavy sigh.

“Here, let me see one of those.” Tony grabbed another book, and it was a more recent one: Peter’s high school years. “Jesus. We should have never let Clint cut that kid’s hair his freshman year.”

Steve laughed. “We didn’t _let_ him. That was when Clint broke his leg, remember?”

“Oh yeah. We had a mission, and since Hawk was hurt, he stayed with the kid.” Tony was in a fit of laughter, looking at the photo of his son who was bearing an obvious thought bubble of _If I wasn’t a dork before, I definitely am now._ “It grew back, thank God.”

“Oh look.” Steve showed Tony a page from his book: Peter sleeping on Tony’s chest in the living room. “I remember taking that,” he whispered. “That was when you stayed up all night at Halloween and ate all of that candy.”

“If I remember correctly, you warned me we would crash like the stock market if we didn’t stop,” Tony chuckled. “Captain America: The Voice of Reason.”

Steve sunk his head down so that it was lying on Tony’s shoulder. “Those were the good days, yeah?” He turned to a new page, and they both looked at it in silence: their first marriage anniversary as fathers. They had made plans for a romantic dinner date, and Peter was struck with a fever. To say that they were forced to stay home would be a lie. They could’ve easily called one of the many people who considered the kid their nephew, but perhaps they’d been looking for an excuse to stay home with their son anyway.

Tony’s own book now showed Peter just months after he was bitten in his junior year of high school. He was particularly happy that day, relieved that the people he loved most were now sharing his secret, and he was finally managing to harness his sensory overload. He was in Tony’s lab, working on a project for his science fair, smiling at the camera and holding up the small arc reactor he’d managed to figure out on his own.

“These are still the good days,” Tony said lowly, taking Steve’s hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss his knuckles one by one.

They continued through their books, making short comments, more somber than outwardly laughing, until they got to their final pages.

They sat in the quiet for a long time, hands still held, Steve still resting his head on Tony’s shoulder, breathless.

“I’m sorry,” Steve finally managed to croak.

“No, no,” Tony said before Steve had completed the short sentence. “I’m sorry.” He pulled on Steve’s arm, making him sit up so that they could look at one another.

The blue eyes met, and for the first time in months, there wasn’t a trace of contempt or frustration, or even distant sadness. There were now just flecks of apology, love, weakness. A quiver of a smile came onto Tony’s mouth, nervous.

“We can’t do this again,” he whispered. “Never again.”

Steve instantly nodded, pushing the books away and swinging a leg around to straddle Tony’s lap, sitting carefully on his thighs. He placed his hands on the chest of Tony’s Black Sabbath t-shirt, and he smirked. “I’ve been going out of my mind.”

“Of course you have. I have, too.”

“I love you so much.”

There was a gentle and chaste kiss of lips, the first in four very long and aching months. A hum came out of Tony’s chest, and his fingers slipped to Steve’s hips. “I love you back.” He sighed. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think either of us needs to really apologize to one another. We have a son to apologize to. For lying to him for so long.”

Steve shut his eyes and nodded, leaning forward until his forehead was pressed against Tony’s, and he kissed him again, just as gently, just as chastely.

“To see that kid walk out of that door…” Tony’s voice was broken against Steve’s lips. “I don’t know if I could take any more pain like that. We already lost-“

“Don’t, honey,” Steve said desperately, his hands quickly finding Tony’s cheeks, then slipping his hands into his hair. “We don’t have to talk about that. Not tonight.”

“That’s the problem, Stevie,” Tony said, taking his hands and holding them together between them. He looked up into his husband’s eyes. “That’s the problem,” he repeated again gently. “We never talked about it. We – I – _I_ put it off and put it off and pretended that we weren’t hurting, that it would go away, but it didn’t.”

Steve swallowed and nodded, then leaned over to open the bedside drawer to pull out a small envelope. He handed it to Tony.

Tony slid the photos out, sonograms of the fetus, their baby girl who’d grown in a surrogate stomach for almost four months and made it no further. She’d been Tony’s seed. Sorrow unfurled in his stomach, and then a bit of shame, but he didn’t pull his eyes away. He couldn’t until his ears registered the sound of a small sniffle from his husband.

Tears were streaming down Steve’s face, and Tony realized he had them, too.

“Do you still look at these a lot?” Tony asked quietly. “You used to.”

“At first, yes. Then, I noticed it seemed to make you unsteady. I would make sure that you weren’t around, looked at them in private, and that made me so… fucking angry, baby. I felt like I was alone, that I had to hide, but I should’ve known you were hurting, too. We didn’t talk about it, and we started to pull away, and I…” His eyes weren’t on the photos, and Tony suspected that he had them memorized. His words were fumbles now. “Eventually, all we were doing was fighting, and Pete was going to school, and I didn’t want to accept that all I had were sonograms of a child that…”

“I should have trusted myself to grieve with you,” Tony whispered.

Steve immediately shook his head. “You _did_ grieve, honey. We just did it differently.” He mustered a half smile. “Of _course_ we grieved differently. We do _everything_ differently. Why we didn’t see that is beyond me.” Steve kissed at his husband’s hairline, and enjoyed the feeling his hands squeezing his hips once more. God how he’d missed him.

“We need to go get our kid,” Tony said. “We should’ve been upfront from the beginning.”

 

Peter was helping Bruce hang a mirror that probably weighed more than _the other guy_ when the doorbell rang. Clint, who’d spent most of the afternoon eating cookies and putting together a new entertainment center, announced that he’d get it.

If the mirror hadn’t finally latched itself to the hook, Peter would’ve dropped it at the sound of his fathers’ voices. Together. Without contempt. The fuck?

“The place is really coming along,” Steve smiled, looking around the living room. He looked down at the disheveled entertainment center and a nearly empty sleeve of peanut butter cookies, then to Tony, who was doing his best not to laugh.

“What are you guys doing here?” Peter asked, and he didn’t mean to sound as mean as he did.

Tony looked to Steve for a moment, but Steve kept his eyes on his son. “We came to talk to you about something.”

Peter could feel his heart drop down into his bowels, but he managed to show nothing in his puppy dog eyes. He’d been gone for three days, and they’d already made the decision to split up. It had been that simple for them.

“Why don’t you guys go to the kitchen?” Bruce said quietly, and by the sound of his voice, perhaps he’d had the same train of thought as Peter.

“That sounds good,” Tony agreed.

Steve took a seat next to Peter, and Tony sat on the other side of the table. As with any big discussion, Steve was sitting up, his hands clasped on the table top, and Tony was relaxed in his chair, eyes down.

“We aren’t coming here to force you to come home,” Steve said immediately. “We’ve done a lot of talking, and we thought we should come and let you in on a few things.”

Peter held his hands up. “I’ve listened to you yell at each other for months. I know for a fact that Pop sleeps in the lab most nights these days, and that you haven’t… you know… slept together in forever. Which is saying something, because, let’s be honest, neither of you ever grasped the notion of locked doors or being quiet. Walking in on you guys in compromised positions is considered a seasonal event.

“Ugh. This is beside the point. I know things have changed. I don’t know if it is between you guys, or something I did, but I’d rather not have some long and drawn out conversation, you know? It hurts enough, and I just want you guys to be happy. If that means your separating or getting divorced or that you want me to go, just say it and let’s… move on.”

Tony was the one who chuckled, and it nearly made Peter’s blood boil, but a gentle smile slipped onto Steve’s face, the _everything’s gonna be okay_ smile that he’d given him since he was a child: when he accidently broke something, when Tony was hurt during a mission, when Peter told them about the strange things happening to him because of that spider bite. That smile always gave him ease.

“We’re not splitting up,” Steve announced. “But, before we talk about any of those other little things you so vividly brought to our attention…” Tony laughed a bit more openly. “…What in the world did you mean by ‘wanting you to go’? Why in the world would we want _you_ to go?”

“Pete,” Tony said sternly, sitting up and placing a hand in the middle of the table. Peter watched him carefully. “You are not our problem, and you have never _been_ our problem. You are the greatest and dearest thing to us. You know that.”

Pete believed that. “Uncle Clint told me that you guys were talking about adopting another kid about a year ago,” he admitted. “I thought maybe… I don’t know what I thought. My ears are ringing.”

Tony looked through the doorway, as if he could see Clint, and was considering which way he’d give him pain, and Steve gave a quiet huff as he leaned back in his chair.

“Yes, we talked about adopting another kid,” Steve told him.

“But, instead, we decided that we would have a child through surrogate,” Tony said, because he needed to. He was the one that needed to tell the story. “And we were going to tell you after you were settled into school. We were proud of you and wanted you to have your moment.

“Our surrogate – a lovely woman named Johanna from Seattle – miscarried at about four months, and we didn’t handle it well.”

Peter was slacked at his jaw. “You – we – Dad?” He looked Steve, and he was quiet, still, but with honest and agreeing eyes. “God…”

Tony set an envelope at the center of the table, and Peter took it carefully, sliding out the contents: small photographs, dated from June through September, where they stopped. It was a girl. 

“I was going to have a sister,” he said to himself, defeated. He couldn’t take his eyes away.

He’d always wondered if his parents would have another kid. He’d never seen a love more fierce than theirs, and it ruled his own outlook on romance. They never took their eyes off of one another, never said an ill word of another that wasn’t quickly healed with a joking smile or careful kiss. They were the Cleavers, the epitome of a successful and healthy couple. A kid was lucky to have that.

So, maybe he started to think that adopting had been too much of a hassle for them, a risk not worth taking a second time. When two people have a love that strong, they shouldn’t be anchored down. They should be living in new countries every year. God knows Steve always talked about moving to different place. _When Peter moves out_ , he’d said. _When we retire._

Peter was almost genuinely surprised when they said he could continue to live at home while attending NYU, if that’s what he wanted to do. If anything, he was sure they’d be happy to have him out of their hair. 

“We should have told you,” Tony said apologetically. “But we could barely talk to each other, let alone you. Our baby boy.” He offered a weak smile. “I remember when I first held you. I was so scared of breaking you or hurting you. We’ve lived our whole lives under the guise that we could protect you from any and everything. When you were bitten, I was shell-shocked. I should’ve known that you’d handle it with grace. A kid with superhero parents is bound to end up a superhero one way or another, yeah?”

“I’m not a superhero,” Peter said softly, and he wasn’t just trying to be humble. His dads were superheroes, American gems. Peter would never have that sort of title, and he didn’t really want it either, although he was aware of his responsibilities.

“When we lost the baby, we had absolutely no control. There was nothing we could do. We didn’t realize we still had a dedication to you until you walked out of that door, and we are… _so_ sorry, Pete. We wanted to desperately to tell you, but the truth escaped us. We weren’t ready to face it.”

Peter nodded. “Now that I know, there’s no need to apologize. I… understand it now.” He couldn’t keep his eyes off of his sister’s shadowy outlines. “I’m sorry, guys. I should’ve known it was something worse than you two just… falling out of love.”

Steve laughed at that, and it surprised both Peter and Tony. “Believe me, Pete. Even if I wanted to fall out of love with Pop, I wouldn’t be able to.” He slung an arm around his son’s shoulder.

“Will you try again?” Peter asked.

Tony shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe. We have a lot of healing to do, but I promise we will let you know.”

“I should tell you guys something. I don’t want you to hear it from anyone else.”

“Please don’t tell me you got Gwen pregnant, Pete,” Tony said instantly, already on the edge of his seat. “I will make this world very uncomfortable for you. I swear to-“

“Pop, calm down,” Peter chuckled. “Gwen isn’t pregnant.” He paused and looked at his dads carefully. “Clint and Bruce are adopting. Clint told me yesterday. They have been waiting to tell you. They thought you were adopting again, but decided not to for some reason, and they didn’t know how to break the news with you two fighting.”

“Bruce!” Tony yelled out, standing up.

“Pop,” Peter whined. “Don’t.”

“Tony,” Steve sighed carefully.

Bruce came in and Clint was near him.

Tony stood with his arms folded across his chest, pupils dark and barreling towards them. The room was thick with silence, and Clint looked to Peter with his _you can’t shut the fuck up, kid_ face.

“Having a baby and didn’t tell me?” Tony said gruffly.

“Look, we wanted to,” Bruce said quietly, and before he could continue, he was cut off by a strong hug from Tony, who was laughing. “Jesus, I thought you were going to punch me.”

“Of course not!” Tony cried. “So happy for you two. It’s about time.” He took Clint in for a hug as well.

Steve stood to join in, and while he was offering his congratulations, Tony sat next to his son, looking at him with eyes that were moist, welled to the edge. “I love you, Pete. We both do.” He planted his lips carefully on his son’s forehead, then ran his hand playfully through his hair. “We’ll be back to normal before you know it.”

Peter smiled, openly relieved. “I guess I should stay here a couple more days. I’m sure you two have a lot of… making up to do.”

Steve had come over and placed his hands on Peter’s shoulders. “We do, but you’re more than welcome to come home,” he teased.

“No, no, no, no, dads.” Peter shook his head adamantly. As happy as he was that things were skirting quickly towards normalcy again, he wasn’t exactly ecstatic to his dads becoming lusty rabbits within eyesight.

He glanced to the corner of the kitchen, where Clint and Bruce were leaned into one another, sharing low whispers.

“Uh, maybe staying here won’t make much of a difference,” Tony chuckled, amused.

“You can stay with your Uncle Thor?” Steve suggested.

Tony and Peter shook their heads quickly. “Thor walks around naked on weekends,” Peter said scornfully.

“You can always bunk with Fury in the Helicarrier,” Tony shrugged, standing and taking Steve’s hand. “You’ll figure it out, kid.”

Steve agreed. “See you Sunday.”


End file.
